Take This Longing
by Anath de Malfoy
Summary: Alastor is captured by the Death Eaters, but Lucius has not abandoned his lover... DISTURBING CONTENT.


Title: Take This Longing  
  
Author: Anath de Malfoy  
  
Pairing: Lucius/Moody (main), Lucius/Voldemort (others implied)  
  
Summary: The first war. Alastor has been captured by Voldemort's Death Eaters... but receives help from an unexpected source   
  
Rating: Hard R  
  
Warnings: M/M slash, some BDSM, implied violence, probably AU  
  
Possible Spoilers: Books 1-5  
  
Disclaimer: All characters and profits belong to J.K. Rowling. Anything else herein is the product of my over-caffeinated imagination.  
  
A/N: This was sort of suggested by the lovely Sarah - she wanted to see something from Lucius' POV, so here it is.  
  
"Just take this longing from my tongue,   
  
all the useless things my hands have done,   
  
let me see your beauty broken down,   
  
like you would do for one you love."  
  
from "Take This Longing" by Leonard Cohen  
  
You were already a scarred old warrior when I first loved you; in those happier times I could look upon the ravages left by past injuries on that still exquisite, always beloved body of yours with admiration for your fortitude and without recoiling. But to see you now, lying nude, battered and bleeding on the cold stone floor of the Dark Lord's dungeon, crippled and wretched, a meagre pile of straw your only comfort, breaks my heart and blurs my eyes with fiery, stinging tears.  
  
Only through the most seductive of persuasion, gently insinuating to my Lord that the Ministry of Magic's finest Auror is more valuable to us alive and coherent than left to slowly perish from cold and hunger, have I been able to ease your suffering. Only through long gruelling hours spent kneeling before my Master, taking his hardness deep into my throat and worshipping him with avid lips and tongue as well as the devotion of my gaze, hearing him hiss with satisfaction as he savours my attentions and watches while Macnair stands behind me and whips my shoulders, have I been able to procure for you food and blankets. Concealed amongst the bundles of meat and bread and wool are healing potions that I have obtained for you at great risk. Young Severus Snape, so skilled in brewing these, gives me what I ask of him without question, enamoured of me as he is. The power of another's unrequited desire cannot be underestimated when seeking to achieve one's own ends...  
  
I bathe and treat your wounds each time I bring you sustenance; my high rank amongst the Death Eaters means that nobody dares to disturb me or interfere. As I caress your still firm and muscular chest, smearing a restorative salve on every bruise and laceration, I notice some of the old tenderness you once felt for me creep back into the unblinking stare of your one good eye. No sign yet of the old trust - I believe it will take as many years as I have lived and more for that to return, if it ever does.  
  
Much wooing of Walden Macnair, much submission to his vicious lash upon my bare skin and bending for the pounding thrusts of his massive cock, has won from him a promise that he himself will no longer harm you, despite his boundless blood-lust, unless he is given a direct order from Lord Voldemort. That much protection I have been able to provide, beloved. But I cannot prevent the Dark Lord's other torturers from inflicting agony - Travers, Dolohov, the Lestranges (may all the gods safeguard you from my wife's sister and her madness!)... I shudder at what you have yet to endure at their hands.  
  
Speaking in my softest, most soothing tones, I sponge the encrusted filth from your pain-wracked flesh and gently smooth cool ointment across your violated opening. The anguish and resignation upon your beautiful but tortured face betray the shame within you, that the vile indignity of rape was added to your torment. One day, my love, I will avenge that ignominy. I swear it on the pure blood of my ancestors. Although I am bound for life to my Lord Voldemort and to his cause, my first loyalty as a Malfoy has always been to my own and to the dictates of my heart. And that heart still aches for you, Alastor, still prizes you above all those that I have loved.  
  
I lay a silencing finger upon your lips as you struggle to pronounce my name; I long to stay beside you for this night and more, but it cannot be. Instead, I bestow upon you what little pleasure I can before I leave. I begin to reverently stroke the swollen warmth of your erection, slick with medicative balm, cradling your precious ball sac softly with the palm of my other hand, whispering how glorious you are to me whilst I bring to you the rapture of release.  
  
With each of my visits, lover, you will grow in strength and soon be able to make your escape. And when you are at last a free man, Alastor Moody, I pray that you will remember with a stray kind thought or two the man who bears the mark of your enemy, but who will adore you far beyond the end of any war, perhaps beyond the end of life itself.  
  
~ Fin. 


End file.
